Leaving the Nest
by Professor Monty Corndog
Summary: This is told from Eaglebones' perspective in the second person, using headcanon shared with some friends: that is, Eaglebones' dad is a crazy dude called Condor who runs a music store and makes his own guitars. A prequel to the Aquabats canon, about how 'Bones left home to join the band.


It's freezing cold, and Dad won't even let you back inside to get a jacket now that he's kicked you out of the house. For God's sake, he has your brother stood at the door, completely scowling at you the whole time, but for some reason you get the feeling that he's glaring for different reasons than your father's orders. In a way, you're glad that you pluck your feathers, because they'd be practically standing on end from the cold. With the few dollars you have in your pocket, with which you were gonna buy some bread and go feed the ducks in the park on your lunch break, you head to the coffee shop across the road to keep warm. The barista nods at you uncomfortably when you first enter, but you don't know why - you think it might be something to do with the family, again. Having a brother who likes to screech at people and claw things and a father with a… Questionable history tends to do that. But that's all going to end soon, and while you know you're going to miss them terribly - yes, even Eagleclaw - the idea of going on tour with your new friends is far more exciting. When you told Dad that they were accepting you as a member and that you were moving out, there was a strange mixture of both sorrow and pride in his face that you could see even through those thick sunglasses.  
"Just tell me when you're going," he'd huffed, and you had excitedly given him the date, ignoring that faux-cool attitude that he puts on. And now, here it is - the day has finally arrived, the last night you spend at home before The Aquabats come and pick you up in the morning, whisking you away to a world of concerts and monsters in a van bigger than your apartment. As you sit by the window, watching the world go by, you wonder why your Dad would've decided to not let you back into the house on your last day. In fact, it bothers you quite a lot that you don't get to spend time with them; you just want a day of complete normalcy to distract you from the anxiety of running away with effectively a gang of vigilantes tomorrow. It's quite a daunting concept after all, regardless of how ineffective they are. A day of domesticism and normalcy wouldn't go amiss, considering that standard "normalcy" isn't a common occurence in your family anyway. Drumming on the sides of your coffee cup, you stare back at the music shop and think of how often you're actually going to be inside it now. No more sitting out on the balcony in the early morning, no more talking with customers, no more going upstairs in the evening to watch movies with your father and eat crappy take-out food. You hate to admit that you're gonna miss it, but on the other hand: no more Eagleclaw carving dirty jokes about you into the kitchen table, and no more _getting locked out of the house for no discernable reason._

When you come back across with the intention of getting your bike from outside, Eagleclaw is already practically lunging towards the doorway.  
"I'm not coming in,_ jeez_ dude," you grumble at him, rolling your eyes cockily. "Why're you so mad, anyway? Is it 'cause you have to stand there, or because I'm actually leaving?"  
You'd meant it as sarcasm, but it seems to have bothered him more than you'd intended, because you flinch back as he hisses at you, spitting and threatening to come closer. Either way, you're ignoring him, hopping on your bicycle and deciding you're gonna have one last look around before you leave, no idea of your next destination.

You feel like you should be appreciating everything more than normal, paying attention to more details than you usually do when zooming through the street if you're out on an errand. So you cycle a lot more leisurely today, noticing the way the wind has strewn leaves across the path in the park, and the way the people are scattered too, as if the breeze has pushed them from place to place. Half of them seem purposeless, sat around with nothing to do or buried in their phones, pretending to wait for and talk to people as they stand alone in the cold. For once, you're not counting yourself amongst them. Your purpose feels like more than just selling things to people - all the guitar practice has paid off, all the years of thinking that you had more to do with your life than just sit around in a store. You don't resent your father for keeping you inside all those years; it's not his fault. He had his time, he went and chased that, and then he came back and settled down. Maybe one day you'll do the same, but you'd like to think you'll get there completely and never have to truly "settle". It's crazy how much you've come to trust the 'Bats in such a short time period, and how much they already feel like a second family. Perhaps you won't truly feel at home on the Battletram right away, but you know that they're gonna help you settle in, even if it is by the Commander outright mocking you despite only just getting to know you and the rest of them being just as strange in their own ways. You chuckle to yourself as you glide along the path, thinking of how much more crazy it's going to get. They already think you're nuts in your own way too, and you suppose you are - you just hope that they can accept that as much as your crazy family does. It's strange how much you usually roll your eyes at them and begrudgingly accept living with them, because when you really think about it, deep down you know that you appreciate everything they've done for you, as cliché as that sounds. When your phone vibrates in the pocket of your jeans, you're so busy thinking about the changes in your life and focusing on where you're cycling to that you almost fall off in surprise. Stopping to answer it, your father only says two words before hanging up.  
"Come home."

It scares you how serious that was. Even when he's yelling at you and your brother for fighting, he doesn't sound that serious. In fact he's usually laughing at the insults you throw at each other, anyway. That period of appreciation and cruising around on your bicycle at a normal speed has ended, and the usual "oh-God-I-need-to-rush" has retured as you toss the leaves in your path to the side with your wheels. It's seemingly even chillier now, although that might just be the breeze from passing cars as you return to the road, the wind blowing through your shirt. It feels like it's blowing through you, too, your skin prickling with a mixture of the cold, fear, and a strange sense of anticipation. You know you're leaving, and sure, that's a big thing, but why the need for such severity? Was the initial idea of him being proud of you just a misunderstanding, and he really doesn't want you to go? Of course, it's not like he can_ stop_ you, but you know he'd damn well try if he didn't want you going - it could be like Halloween in the 8th grade all over again, when he took your guitar away as punishment for staying out. You _hated_ him for that, him taking your prized possession away from you - he said "_I_ made it" when you fought about it, and that was that. The fact that he made it was what made it so special, afterall, and you didn't want him tainting that. But that's all in the past, that guitar retired years ago and resting safely on a shelf in your bedroom… So you can't help but wonder what he'd take away this time if you actually managed to get away.

When you return to the store, you have to use your keys to get in, Dad mysteriously having closed it early. And when you go to head through the back room - your father's workshop - Eagleclaw's not stood primed and ready to hiss in your face. Opening the door to the apartment, however, leads you into a room that you barely recognize. Most of the furniture is gone and it's completely black, apart from some candles bathing the room in a flickering light. The only shape you can see is a large one in the centre of the room - Condor, your father. He usually doesn't appear this large - he's tall, but slender - but the outfit he's wearing as he sits cross-legged on the floor is puffing out around him. It's a cloak and headdress, made entirely of feathers, and the very sight of it not hidden away in a box is enough to amaze you, because it's a family heirloom you've never been allowed to touch. The feathers at the top are from yourself and your brother when you were only kids, instantly recognizable through being so small and fluffy - and then as they flow downwards, they get longer and darker, changing from fledgling feathers to your mature ones. The bottom, which sweeps the floor and fans out around him, is striped and grey: your mother's. It forms a crest on the hood, with a shining beak that points down made out of mahogany, making your eyes trail from the sight of it to his face as he stares at you, still in his sunglasses.  
"Come sit here," he commands, and you do as you're told, still feeling like you're lost in a trance looking at that damn coat.  
"Where'd Doucheclaw go?" you ask, sitting opposite him.  
"I made him leave… And don't call your brother that," he grumbles, tilting his head forward to scowl at you from behind his shades. "I know you don't get along, but how would _you_ feel if we called you Douchebon—"  
"Okay, _okay, _sorry," you snap, fidgeting uncomfortably on the hardwood floor. "We're obviously getting completely off the point."  
He nods, acknowledging this, and sits up straighter, practically towering over your slouching figure with his large stature.  
"Okay," he starts, hands placed firmly on his knees. "I'd say we can begin properly now, but I have something else to give you, first."  
Condor turns sharply, reaching behind him into an area that isn't illuminated by the candles and pulling an item from the darkness that makes your jaw drop.  
"It's dangerous to go alone," he chuckles, placing it in your hands with a smirk. "Take this."  
You're honoured, but at the same time, quite indignant.  
"_Really_, dad? You locked me out of the house all day so you could sit here and make _Zelda references?"_  
All he does is laugh in response, but when you look down at the guitar he's placed in your hands, he knocks it off and remains silent. It's completely beautiful, obviously made in his workshop, and shining silver even in the dark. He's watching as you examine it and start to play a chord, the whole guitar vibrating in your hands with a strange hum of power echoing through it.  
"Be careful," he offers. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't laser the house down on your last day here."  
You nod, completely in awe, and place it on the floor between you. It's then that you realise how strange it is that you're sat on the same level for once - usually, especially when he develops a penchant for crazy ceremonies, he's sat higher than you on either a cushion or the dining table (if he's feeling particularly crazy). But as he starts to speak, you understand why this is, and feel the hair standing up on the back of your neck again.  
"Well, like I said… It's your last night. You're leaving home. You know what that means?"  
You shake your head, sort of knowing what he's getting at, but wanting him to explain it all the same.  
"You don't need me any more," he adds, again with a mixture that sounds like he can't decide whether he's filled with pride or about to cry. The second option is bizarre to you - you've_ never_ seen him cry. He leans over, the hood of the robe seemingly staring you down as he touches the bottom of it, pulling out a singular feather from the large ones and placing it into your hands. He gets to his feet, pulling you by the hand to join him, and embraces you tightly, hugging him to you. "You're a man now - me and your mother are so proud of you, kid. Keep that with you… Promise you'll think of us when you get a minute."  
You run the feather through your fingers, admiring the colours, and admiring the softness of the rest of them, your face squashed into his chest.  
"Dad," you mumble, after hugging him back for a lingering moment. "Are you even _wearing_ anything under there?"  
"Counterpoint," he offers. "At least I'm wearing underwear for once."

Boarding the Battletram in the morning with your brand new guitar (which is legally considered a deadly weapon) and wearing your brand new uniform, your dad stands outside the front door, once again wearing his robe and bunny slippers. The Commander's already making jokes about how weird your family is, and you laugh along, toying with a beaded chain around your neck, a feather pressed tightly underneath the 'A' on your costume.


End file.
